Darren C. Demaree

We Are Arrows#208

On the side of the
field, every moment is
phosphorous, every
angle is porous, and it
takes stakes driven
deeper than they can
rise into the sky to
maintain any
symmetry.From the road
it is only one field.From the sky
it is only one patch of
grounded, intended to
be more than the
normal scrambling
brush. We are
used to breath through
the pitchfork, the
tools of what from a
long distance might
appear to be one
undertaking, but in
fact is a thousand
small labors.We are the
best, simply the best,
when we are the
muscle in the scene.

We Are Arrows#209

Our gladness, as small
as sugar, lifts the
suspect of our control
over our own hearts,
put the blood pump
into our own hands,
slows it to wait for
our own, chosen sparks.We are
animals all day, denial
of our small
pleasures, can lead to
irrational discontent.Our gladness,
as small as sugar, as
soon as now, can be a
crutch without the
weight to place on top
of it, but that is why
we have moved past
dragging our bellies
in the sand.

We Are Arrows#210

We feed first on the
place of the bitter
fruit, we roll the dirt
over our tongue, and
we suspect nothing.Large seeds
replacing our teeth,
we never lift slowly
the skin of our fruit
we put the whole
dedication molar-
deep, and live with
the consequences.We are so
easily destructible.We are so
easily appreciated by
our own nature, and
so slow to appreciate
nature in return.We feed first
on the place, the root,
the arms that reach
beneath us like there
are real secrets down
there. We
swallow almost
anything.